


Enchanted

by CatAvalon (CazinaIna)



Series: Fictober 2018 [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Strangers to Lovers, Trust Issues, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Witch Hunter Shiro, Witch Keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-07-23 20:23:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16166336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/pseuds/CatAvalon
Summary: Keith thinks he's done everything. He's changed his name, moved across the country, done anything he can think of to hide.But then he sees him, standing in the middle of a crowded room.Shiro.And his eyes are on Keith.(On long hiatus! I didn't want to take it down but it will be a while before anything updates!)





	1. Searching

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all I'm gonna attempt to do fictober with Sheith! None of this is planned, it's gonna surprise me as much as it does you!

He never thought he’d seen him again, especially not here. Not that Keith belongs here either. He’s at a college party in the basement of a frat house, and the smell of burning herbs is quite unlike to the kind he’s used to working with. He lounges in a corner with a can of unsipped cider warmed by his body heat as the room moves around him. Dancing, grinding, the easy kind of drunk laughter that Keith’s familiar with.

He shouldn’t have come.

A figure pushes through the rolling crowd, eyes skimming over sweating bodies, searching. He knows what he’s looking for, Keith realises, as he ducks his head and wonders how inconspicuous it would look if he pulled up his hood. There’s a determination to his stride, to the way he analyses every face in the room, that Keith recognises. Keith angles himself closer to the wall, still watching beneath lowered lashes, and there’s a moment where he thinks he’s safe, when the eyes skim over him and up to the littered steps of the staircase, looking for his exit.

And then the eyes are back on him.

A crowded room, and it all but parts around the figure that walks through it, searching eyes that skim over sweating bodies, over him, to the dingy surroundings of the basement. There’s a brief moment where he studies the littered steps of the staircase, more beer cans and horny college students than carpet at this point.

And then his eyes are back on him.

Keith blinks, long enough to turn on his heel and  _ go _ . He isn’t a coward. Really, he isn’t. Keith is the first person to stand in the face of fear, the last to leave any kind of fight. He prides himself on his boldness, his ability to never back away from a challenge- just as long as the challenge doesn’t involve  _ him _ . 

Shiro.

Weaknesses were something Keith had heard about but never experienced. He didn’t have anything he considered his Achilles heel; his bike was easily enough replaceable, and he didn’t have any family that he knew of. He had had every intention of keeping it that way, just him and his tiny apartment hidden in an enormous city, a battered mattress on a hardwood floor, a bookshelf full of dusty tomes.

Unexpected. That’s the word Keith would choose to describe how their relationship came to term. Perhaps even, at the time, welcome. Keith hadn’t realised how lonely he was until someone was finally by his side. He hadn’t been searching for anything- well, that’s not true. He’d been searching for a very definite something. A cat, black specifically, and what better place to look for one than at a local animal shelter. He’d left that day with a small bundle of fur in a carrier and a warm smile that shouldn’t have made Keith’s chest tighten, but it did.

His chest tightens again now as he pushes upstairs cluttered with couples and cans, pulse quickening in his throat. He thinks he can hear his name. He thinks he can hear more. A plea, maybe, a shout telling him to wait, but Keith’s not listening. He’s not, and even if he were, the blood rushing through his ears distorts the sound as something of longing when in reality it’s anything but.

He has a few seconds to compose himself when he reaches the top, deep breaths that strain against his ribs and the stab of his nails biting into his palm, before he’s moving again, phone already in hand, a message half formed.

He wasn’t here for fun in the first place. There’s unfinished business that needs attending to, and it comes in the form of a little silk bag tucked deep into the pocket of his skinny jeans.

**You** : Where are you?

There isn’t a reply, but the deal is too good to miss even though he knows he’s flirting with danger, something he’s intimately familiar with. He finds reprieve in a bathroom on the second floor that he wrenches the lock on, bright despite Keith sinking to the floor before he turns the lights on. The full moon shines through the window, softly illuminating the white tile and casting an odd sheen over Keith’s skin. Shimmery, always his least favourite side effect.

Keith bites off a grunt and shoves his fingers in his hair, tugging sharply until his scalp screams in protest. Something catches in his throat that sounds too much like the first tendrils of panic. A stuttered breath, the beginnings of a sob, the first shaky syllable of his name.

He’s been so careful. He’s done everything- he  _ thought  _ he’d done everything. Moved cross country, changed his name, grew out his hair and shadowed every step that he took, and yet it wasn’t enough. Shiro’s here, and he knows who Keith is, knows more about him than anyone ever has.

_ What did I do wrong? _

There isn’t time to think. His phone vibrates where he’s tossed it aside and there’s heavy pounding on the door. No voice, no identifier, no way of knowing if he’s about to step out into danger. Keith glances at his screen- it’s a call from an unknown number- then at the light breaking out from under the crack beneath the door. A shadow paces within it and Keith reaches out and feels-

It’s him. He doesn’t know how Shiro knew, but he’s there on the other side of the door, waiting. The call cuts off, and Keith is left with the deafening hiss of his breathing pushing through the silence. It doesn’t last long, maybe three lungfuls of air, and then the vibrating starts again.

He picks up.

No one speaks but he can hear the low whoosh of someone’s breath, can feel the ghost of it brush his ear and raise goosebumps over his skin. If he shudders, at least Keith is his only witness. He rolls his shoulders and clenches his jaw, tries to centre himself on the fact that there’s still a door between them and so much more if Keith wills there to be.

And then, because he  _ isn’t  _ a coward, he answers. “Shiro.”

The shadow stops. There’s a gentle thud as something- a fist, a forehead- hits the door and then nothing once more. Keith has to check to see if the line is still connected and then realises how redundant it is once he hears a voice, muffled through wood and the denial that still clings to Keith’s skin.

“I knew it,” he says, and Keith wishes he could see his face, needs to know what the little sigh that accompanies his words means. “I knew it was you.”

He can almost see it, the crease of his brow, the resigned to slump of his broad shoulders. His fingers twitch in his hair, wanting to reach out, unlock the door and smooth the tension out of his muscles.  _ Traitors _ , Keith thinks, as he clenches them tighter. His heart throbs in his chest.  _ You’re a traitor, too _ .

“Keith?” he calls out, hesitant. He’s missed how Shiro’s speaks his name, short and sweet as it rolls off his tongue. He misses it in the silence, alone in darkness on a mattress big enough for two. He misses it most wearing his shirt, something he’ll never admit he still has. It’s lying on his bed, wrinkled with wear. He’d worn it last night, when Red’s gentle purring hadn’t been enough and he’d resorted to the comfort of the palm of his hand. “Keith, open the door.”

He can’t, won’t. He’s already on his feet pacing across the room, glancing out the window and calculating his chances. Shrubbery, a pool too far to aim for, guttering. It wouldn’t be his first time breaking out of a room like this, he’s familiar with the art of climbing, wears fingerless gloves purposefully for this, but he really hadn’t thought he’d have to exert himself tonight. 

Grunting, he swings himself up onto the windowsill, knocking over bottles and tubs in his wake, and pushes against the glass until it gives. At the comotion, Shiro begins talking again, but Keith drowns him out and swings his legs over the threshold. It’s a squeeze, bathroom windows typically running smaller than most, but he manages to lower himself out until he’s dangling. At this point, the door handle’s begun to rattle, but Keith is already making his way towards an outcrop of roofing and consequently, his escape.

It’s never that easy, though, is it?

Shiro, understanding Keith’s escape attempt, is waiting for him at the next window. Despite Keith’s struggles to launch himself onto the lower roof, Shiro gets a good grip around his ankle and the two of them swear as their kerfuffle leads to Keith losing a boot. It drops onto the patio beneath him, trapped between a potted sunflower and a wicker chair, and they both look down to the floor.

_ Fucking  _ great.

“Keith,” Shiro says again, getting another hand around his ankle. He’s stuck, now; it’s either Shiro lets go, or he goes down to meet him, and Keith knows which option he’d prefer. He really doesn’t want to kick such a handsome face, but he doesn’t really have much choice. He swings for where it’d hurt most, a nose already scarred from one of their previous encounters, but Shiro is faster. He pulls against Keith’s forward momentum and wraps an arm around his waist, and before he knows it he’s falling.

Their heads knock, Keith can taste blood in his mouth at the impact, and they sprawl heavily across the floor. He aches, muscles straining from the climb and his bones jolted from the crash- but mostly, it’s his heart. Shiro doesn’t let go, not even when after they've caught their breath, and it does crazy things to Keith’s pulse. Shiro's chest is just as strong and warm as he remembers it, and his fingers are so gentle as the brush against the small of his back.

Keith swallows, and he lets his head drop against Shiro’s neck.

_ Shit _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how far I manage to get!
> 
> (I know I'm late, I fell asleep before I could post xD)
> 
> Y'all can find me here for updates and shit:
> 
>  
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> xoxo Cat


	2. Barefoot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're on track!

The fight drains from him. He’s unsure whether it’s some sort of charm Shiro has or if it’s just his pathetic self melting into the touch, but his body weakens and Keith finds himself with his nose pressed against the taut muscles of Shiro’s throat. _Home_. He smells like home, warm and overwhelming familiar as the scent of his skin floods into his lungs.

“What are you _doing_ here?” he finds himself whispering. He assumes from the fact that Shiro isn’t making a move to detain him that he’s safe- for now.

Shiro shifts below him and after one last self-indulgent drag, Keith rolls off of him. He stares blankly up at the ceiling, at the blue tac dots that pimple the surface and the skeletal remains of tattered posters that hang from torn corners like nooses, before letting his eyes flutter close.

“I came to find you.”

Two years. He doesn’t say it allowed, but it’s the first thing that jumps to his tongue. Twenty six months, seventeen days- not that he’s been counting- and now he’s finally come after him. The why is heavy in his mouth, too, but he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, doesn’t want to _think_.

“Well,” he says in the end, because he has to say something. “You found me.”

He sighs, and then Shiro sighs, and then their joint exhales turns into a breath of laughter. It’s a twisted, manic thing that bubbles from Keith’s chest, part panic but mostly of relief. Bass from the music below vibrates through his bones and it’s all too much, the pain thrumming through his body, the confusing concoction of emotions that is making his eyes burn.

Keith coughs, loud and wet, and hauls himself upright. Shiro, to his surprise, is already standing. He offers Keith a hand, which he scrutinies with narrowed eyes. His fingers are long and thick, just like the rest of him, covered in calluses and thick skin that leave the impression of roughness but in reality, his touch is oh so gentle. There’s a ring on his middle finger that bears a signet that Keith knows all too well; he’s spent countless moments tracing its interlinking pattern, never knowing what it meant.

He does now. He glares at the silver until Shiro shifts and offers him his other hand.

“What are you going to do, then?” Keith asks, hauling himself up with the help of Shiro’s support. “Turn me in? Torture me? Kill me?”

“Kill you-? No!” Shiro exclaims, dropping Keith’s hand as if his skin were acidic- which is a thing he can do, he must add. “No, I don’t want to kill you. I’ve never wanted to kill you.”

“Huh, could’ve fooled me,” Keith says, pacing across the room. He traces the scar on his cheek with a pointed flush of his thumb before reaching down to tug off his other boot. A knife falls free, which Keith sticks in the waistband of his jeans, and he’s left barefoot before Shiro, toes curling into the carpet.

“You didn’t leave me with any other choice,” Shiro says, crowding Keith against the wall. He second guesses himself, though, and backs away when he sees the tense way Keith glares at his approaching form. “Keith, you were using me for-”

“You lied to me,” he cuts in quickly, jutting out his chin. “I told you who I was and you _lied_.”

“I didn’t-” Keith scoffs, and Shiro runs a hand through his hair. It’s all white now, or at least a very pale grey. The last time Keith had seen him he’d been more salt than pepper, but there was still a distinct darkness to his undercut. He itches to feel if it’s just as soft as he remembered- his forelock had always felt like silk threaded through his fingers. “I don’t want to argue.”

“What do you want, then?” Keith says, crossing his arms over his chest, a feat made ridiculous by the motorcycle boot in his fist. “Because all I know is that you’ve tracked me down. I don’t know your motives. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Keith,” Shiro says softly, his eyes shuttering. His face darkens, throat bobbing tightly as he swallows and takes a single step forwards, palms raised.  “You know me.”

“Do I?” Keith asks, before doing what he should have minutes ago.

He walks away.

It’s awkward with his bare feet- he’s never been one for socks- but he trudges downstairs and out into the garden so he can reclaim his lost boot. He’s sure Shiro would have followed him, but after leaning against the wall to redress himself, he’s still alone with his nothing but his thoughts.

Not that that is a good thing either, because now they’ve been reminded of how Shiro feels. How he sounds, and how he smells, how he makes Keith feel small even if he is taller than average himself. How he can say one word, a word so many others have spoken before him, and it's enough to make Keith forget his morals. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Shiro asked him to stay.

Scratch that, he knows exactly what he would have done and hates himself that he’s weak enough to do it.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, probably the guy after his charm. Keith has half a mind to chuck the blasted thing into the forest behind the house for all the luck it’s brought to him, but a grand in the bank is enough to beckon a response, and he tells the receiver to meet him at a diner a few blocks over.

He also saves the number Shiro called him on. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know how he even got it, but he keeps it safe in his contacts for future reference.

His bike is a welcome sight, tucked amongst the cars in the driveway. He scans the area for what he remembers Shiro last driving, some sleek black Audi worth more than Keith’s life itself, but he doesn’t spot it. He doesn’t know whether that makes him feel better or worse. He pulls on his helmet and wheels back into the street, the roar of his engine barely louder than the chaotic sounds of the house party still roaring on within.

He orders a coffee, black, once he’s inside, tucked back in a corner booth where no one can see him but those purposefully looking. He’s been here a few times, has witnessed deals of other kinds taking place under the tacky tables, but he normally sticks to the alleyway outside for his own. Tonight, though, he needs to sit down, needs a moment to sink into the cracked vinyl seating and forget his own existence.

His moment of bliss doesn’t last long enough.

He runs his tongue over his teeth- getting sharp again- as a hooded figure makes their way towards him. Keith straightens automatically, dips his fingers in his pocket and wraps his fingers around the silk bag, as the stranger approach.

Except, it’s not a stranger. God, Keith really should have expected it, as Shiro takes the seat opposite and lowers his hood, doesn’t know how he hadn’t managed to connect the dots together an hour ago when he first saw Shiro across the room. Maybe because he didn’t want to believe it, Keith rationalises, as Shiro reaches for a menu and skims it with an air of ease. His feet nudge against Keith’s accidentally, and he smiles up apologetically as Keith pulls his knees up to his chest.

_I’m losing my touch._

“You are,” Shiro says, and Keith realises he must have said it aloud. “But only slightly.”

“Do you know how many hours of my life I poured into this?” Keith spits, throwing the pouch at Shiro’s chest. It bounces against hard muscle and lands in his lap, emitting a low light from beneath the table that shines against the metal aglets on his hoodie strings. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park to brew fortune potions in this day and age!”

Shiro regards him steadily as he shuffles the clothed charm between his fingers.

“It doesn’t look like I need luck anymore,” he says with a shrug, although he does pocket the pouch. In return, he pulls out a thin unmarked envelope. “I’ve already found you.”

Keith feels his cheeks heat, and their hands brush as Shiro passes the envelope over. The heat of Shiro’s skin lingers as Keith counts out twenty fifties, neatly pressed and bound together with a paperclip. Eventually, he mutters, “You’re not as smooth as you think you are.”

“Really?” Shiro says, and when Keith looks up he’s scratching the back of his neck. “I had that one planned out for days.”

Keith huffs and shoves the envelope between his knees. He wraps his fingers around his coffee mug and brings it to his lips, lets the rising steam bathe his face before he drinks long and deep, eyes never leaving Shiro’s. It’s a little unnerving, the way neither of them looks away. Keith feels his hackles raise, but it’s not out of defensiveness. It’s something smaller, deeper inside him that both shrinks beneath Shiro’s full attention and reaches towards it like sunlight.

A server comes by with Shiro’s order, and Keith would bet a kidney it’s some sort of sugary mocha. He’d kept a box of instant sachets in his kitchen cupboard for the days when Shiro stayed over, even if he did try and convince him to drink something, anything else.

He never complained about the sweet coffee kisses that followed, though.

Two muffins join the mug. Shiro reaches for the chocolate one, ripping into it with ease and inhaling a massive chunk in record time- obviously witch hunting is hungry work. He nudges the other towards Keith with a sheepish smile. Blueberry. A peace offering, Keith assumes, in the form of carbs and dried fruit, the tilt of a head that stirs light hair into dark eyes.

It’s more than Keith deserves. It’s more than Shiro deserves, too, but Keith takes it. He slides the plate closer and punctures the muffin top with his thumbs, sucking the crumbs off his skin as he raises a single brow. It’s hidden beneath his hair, of course, but Shiro sees it, sees _him_ , and takes another bite with a defiant triumphant grin.

For now, it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the last chapter that i have no idea how to climb buildings- all of this is gonna be self-indulgent and very much fantasised!
> 
> I've been so overwhelmed with the love this has gotten in such a short amount of time- thank you so much! This ain't my first fic rodeo, but it's my first voltron venture and i'm glad i've finally jumped into the deep end!
> 
> Find me here!
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> See y'all tomorrow!
> 
> xoxo Cat


	3. Warmth

It’s quiet for a long time. Keith finishes his muffin and drinks slowly from his coffee, bracing the mug on his raised knees and watching Shiro over the rim. He doesn’t look awkward, or afraid, doesn’t seem a threat in the slightest with ruddied cheeks and his threadbare hoodie- but Keith had been blind to the danger hidden beneath Shiro’s skin before. 

He’d like to think he knows better now, but the pink that splotches the points of Shiro’s cheekbones and the way his long lashes curl against them when he rests his eyes is doing stupid things to his heart.

“You gonna tell me, then?” Keith says, staring into the bottom of an empty cup. A couple of dregs swirl at the bottom, and Keith waves his hand over them. An anchor. Interesting.

“Tell you what?” Shiro says. Keith doesn’t need to look up to know that he’s trying to feign innocence. He tilts his mug, and Shiro’s raised brows catch in the reflection of the ceramic.

“Why you’re here,” he says, gesturing with a loose hand. He gently sets the cup back down on the table, cocking his head as he meets Shiro’s eyes.  “Why now.”

Shiro swallows, and Keith tracks the heavy bob of his Adam’s apple. “It wasn’t just a spontaneous thing, Keith. I’ve been looking for you for over a year. You’ve been surprisingly hard to keep track of.”

“What gave me away, then?” he asks, genuinely curious. He’d discarded all of his old technology, got a new number every month, used different usernames to advertise under on the black witch market. There shouldn’t have been a way of tracing him, and yet here Shiro is, sat before him, looking at Keith as if he’s this remarkable discovery, a hidden treasure uncovered in the dark of night.

“I-...” Shiro begins before clearing his throat. He shifts in his seat, shifts closer to Keith- he can see Shiro’s feet on his side of the table and if he dropped his legs, their knees would be brushing. “You’re going to think I’m some kind of stalker.”

“Don’t worry,” Keith says, shaking his head. “I already do.”

“Well, then,” Shiro says, rubbing the blush out of his neck. “I spent a lot of time in underground clubs, asking around, dropping your name.”

“I bet that didn’t get you far,” Keith says, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t stupid- before he left for good, he told all of the right people just exactly who Takashi Shirogane was and who his alliances were with. For a year, Keith had thought they were with him. 

Turns out they are with people who’d pay to see his body bleeding out, stone cold and lifeless.

“I have some friends in the right places,” Shiro shrugs, folding a napkin into crisp, neat quarters. “Managed to get some information for me about how you made money in the past.”

Keith doesn’t bother asking  _ who _ . It had surprised him, at first, when Shiro introduced him to some of his ‘college’ buddies. A shifter called Hunk and a Fae named Allura stick out of the memory like a sore thumb, and Keith had always just assumed that Shiro just… didn’t know. Figures that they too were working for the Garrison despite being just as inhuman as himself.

Keith can’t help but scoff. “What, so you trawled through the magic market and got lucky?”

“You have a very distinct written voice,” Shiro says, smirking. The napkin has started to take form of a crane, and Keith watches Shiro’s deft fingers create folds until the bird has wings. “But no. Most people agree to a face to face, or at least a phone call, before they commit.”

Keith doesn’t. He hates even having to show his face to do the deal. There’s a reason why he’s dressed the way he is, non-descript, a hood to hide his face, contacts in to hide the purples of his eyes. They itch, now that he thinks about it, and he grinds the palms of his hands deep until he’s seeing stars.

“Why, though,” Keith breathes, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lighting of the cafe.

Shiro settles down the finished crane on the speckled table top. It tilts over as he reaches over blindly before he reconsiders and reels himself in. “Keith, we were together for nearly a-”

“I know how long,” he cuts, fists clenching. He feels something vibrate beneath his skin, a bone-deep sorrow that curdles into regret. It rolls through him until the cutlery begins to shudder, and wings of the crane trembling like his fragile heart. He takes a deep breath, bites on the inside of his cheek with a too sharp incisor until he can taste blood on his tongue. “You don’t have to remind me.”

“And you just  _ disappeared _ ,” Shiro finishes anyway, eyes flickering over the table as everything begins to still. He takes a deep, pointed breath. Keith watches his chest expand slowly, the way his shirt stretches to accommodate the size before he releases the air in his lungs with a defeated slump of his shoulders. “Keith, we were in-”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. His feet drop to the floor with a sharp thud and he clenches the table top, knuckles white and straining. “Don’t say it.”

He might as well have done, though. He can hear the word in the air as clear as if the thought were verbalised, a bell-like ring that bounces around in Keith’s ears and pushes beneath his nails. The L is still poised on Shiro’s lips, tongue pressed against teeth, mouth parted. Keith doesn’t realise how hard he’s breathing until a gasp breaks through his throat. 

“Keith,” Shiro says, so softly. He reaches across the table and this time doesn’t back down before wrapping his fingers around Keith’s wrist. A warmth seeps into Keith’s skin that’s so familiar it hurts, and it conjures memories that Keith has buried beneath years of distractions. Good memories. Happy memories, full of life and laughter and other things beginning with  _ L _ that he doesn’t wish to dwell on. 

Shiro’s grip on him shifts until their fingers are linked together. It’s pure instinct, an old habit, when Keith squeezes but it ignites something in Shiro’s eyes that looks too much like hope.

Keith forces them apart and purposefully folds his arms against his chest.

“Where are you staying?” he asks, if only to change the topic. He glances out of the window to the street lamp lit street, trying to pretend he couldn’t care less when in reality he cares too much. He can see their reflection in the window, sees the careful way Shiro studies his profile before shaking his head.

“A hotel on Parsons.” 

That’s… too close to where Keith lives, a few blocks at best. He isn’t sure, but he thinks, perhaps, it’s intentional.

“You driving tonight?”

“I caught a cab,” Shiro admits, fiddling with the wings of his origami crane. “I didn’t know if I was going to drink. I normally do, if I can’t find you.”

“I’m glad I could break you out of that routine, then,” Keith says, smirking despite himself. Shiro smiles, too, this small broken thing equivalent to a pair of puppy dog eyes. Keith knows he’s capable of those, too; he’s been the victim of them many times in the past. He hates himself in this moment, though, because he can feel it working. He shouldn’t be throwing this old dog a bone, but he’s clearing his throat before he can stop it, and- “Let me give you a ride.”

“What?” Shiro blinks, then quickly regains composure. “I mean, are you sure?”

Keith rolls his eyes and pushes himself to his feet, making sure to tuck the envelope deep in his hoodie pocket and purposefully not looking back. He doesn’t know if he’s relieved to hear the heavy fall of Shiro’s footsteps following him out into the carpark.

“I’ve only got one helmet,” Keith says. Shiro had his own at one point. Keith sold it on eBay to the highest bid of thirty six pounds seventy three. 

“You keep it,” Shiro says, as if Keith were offering- which he wasn’t. He pulls his hair back and tucks it into the collar of his shirt before pulling the helmet over his head. When he turns back to Shiro, he catches him staring at the tiny slither of stomach revealed by his hoodie hiking up.

He hastily clears his throat.

It gets worse from then on out. Keith straddles the bike and forgets how to breathe when Shiro presses tightly against him. He’s a big,  _ big  _ man trying to take up a small amount of space, and Keith can feel every sharp cut and hard line of his body flush against his back. It’s going to make driving very distracting, he decides, especially when Shiro’s hands come to rest around his stomach. He knows from experience that those hands can almost encircle the width of his waist, can feel the phantom press of fingers nearly encompassing a naked thigh as its thrown over a shoulder-...

_ Stop it. _

Keith clears his thoughts with the roar of an engine, and he hurtles them into the starlight.

*

Once he’s focused on the road, the journey blurs in a haze of warm breath against Keith’s neck and the occasional grappling against his front. Shiro’d always hated the way he drove, hard and fast as if the world were trying to catch him. Which, in reality, is true. He’d taken it slower tonight, considering Shiro’s skull was at risk, but that hadn’t stopped the little grunts of complaint Keith had caught whenever they stopped at a light, the utterings of his name when he took a corner a little too fast.

Keith walks him to his hotel room because he’s nothing but a gentleman- but also because he wants to know exactly where it is, for  _ reasons _ . They hover outside the door awkwardly as Shiro fumbles for his keycard, and Keith doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Does he offer his hand? Stumble his way through one of those bro hugs? 

He doesn’t have much time to think about it.

“Can I see you again?” Shiro asks, once he’s finally got the card into the reader. The room light flashes green, and Keith watches its glow-  _ one, two, three, hold  _ and repeat- until he realises that this isn’t exactly a question he can ignore. 

He stares down at the threadbare carpet as he considers- pretends to consider, because the answer is already fighting to free itself from behind his teeth. “Yeah.”

There’s a pressure at his shoulder, and Keith snaps his eyes up. Shiro’s gazing down at him with a fondness that aches just as much as it soothes the months of loneliness Keith’s surrounded himself with. He ducks his head, and for one stunned second Keith thinks he’s going to kiss him. 

He’s wrong, though. Shiro’s cheek skims his as he gingerly takes Keith into his arms. 

It’s been years since he’s been hugged by anything but his own arms. Keith can remember the last time, the last evening when Shiro came back to work and Keith thought seven hours was a long time. He freezes beneath the touch, unsure what it means, before he allows himself to be selfish and sink into the weight of Shiro’s embrace. He keeps his hands, however, at his sides; if he reaches up to hold Shiro’s collar, he doesn’t think he’d ever let go.

“I’ve missed you so much,” Shiro confesses, lips moving against his hair. “More than anything I’ve ever known.”

Keith’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t admit it, but he holds the same sentiments. He doesn’t think too much into it, but he swears he feels Shiro press his lips against his hairline before drawing away. There’s a light flush to his cheeks that indicates that he did.

“I suppose I’ll…” Keith gestures down the corridor, and he’s leaving before either of them can say goodbye.

Once he’s home, Keith texts the number he saved as Shiro’s that he’s home safe. He doesn’t know why he does it, but he likes the feeling of seeing the three dots floating on his screen as Shiro types out his reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: please, try and restrain yourself to shorter chapters  
> also me: 2k chapters  
> me @ me: look you've gotta do this for another 28 days  
> me meing at me: 2k chapters we die like men
> 
> still don't know what's going on but i have a little more planned! 
> 
> Follow my progress here!
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> Thanks for all of your love and support! It still overwhelms me and I feel so welcome in the fandom!
> 
> See y'all tomorrow,
> 
> xoxo Cat


	4. Compliment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to use the prompt so the end is a lil squishy- sorry!!!

**Shiro** : Good morning, sunshine

It’s the same thing he’d text Keith every morning when they were apart, what he’d whisper in his ear when they shared a bed. Keith smiles despite himself and rolls over onto his stomach, fingers hovering as he tries to think of a reply. Red mewls from the pillow beside him and paws at his forearm, eyes wide and judging.

“I know,” Keith says, locking his phone before sending a response and reaching to scratch behind her ears. “I’m pathetic.”

Maybe not pathetic, Keith considers, once he drags himself out of bed and starts stewing leaves for his tea. Nostalgic is a more accurate term, he thinks, wistful. He longs for autumn mornings, soaking in the low sun and Shiro's warm breath against his skin, a time when someone else would get the water boiling and bring him a fragrant mug with a kiss. He thinks about it as he stirs, spoon tinkling against the ceramic. If Shiro were here now, if it were two years earlier and a dozen secrets ago, his arms would be around him, bracing him against the counter.

He wonders if Shiro is thinking about him, too, placing him within his early morning rituals and the sacredness of sleep softened skin.

 _Stop it_.

It's the last thing he should be doing, thinking about Shiro with such vulnerability. It probably doesn't help that he couldn't sleep last night, instead sharing his secret desires with twisted sheets, tossing and turning until there was nothing but a midnight fantasy playing behind his eyes, a shirt dragged over his nose, the careful touch of his hand.

No wonder Red's staring at him incredulously. Maybe she's right. He really is pathetic. He sighs as he fills her bowl up with kibble and gets her fresh water; she really is more intelligent than any cat has any right to be.

Shiro texts him again whilst he's in the shower, just a basic _how're you doing_ that shouldn't make Keith's stomach swoop but it does regardless. There isn't anything flirty about inquiring of his well being, but Keith can't help but think Shiro's testing the waters. He replies with a curt _fine_ , water dripping from his hair and bleeding across the screen, and locks his phone again. He has work to do, anyway, and that requires focus- focus he shouldn't be spending on Shiro.

It's just a simple stamina potion, technically illegal in the eyes of sporting officials but undetectable when it comes to drugs tests. Keith didn't ask what the recipient wanted it for, just hopes that it's for marathon sex as opposed to an actual race. Money is money, though, and it's not exactly cheap to live alone in a city centre. He pictures his mounting bills as he cleanses his kitchen with salt and sage and pulls his cauldron out of the dishwasher- and shit. With all of the excitement of last night, he'd forgotten to set it off, so he begins scraping violent effervescent goo from around the edges and lets it soak in the sink for a while.

He's elbow deep in soapy water when his phone vibrates again- a call this time. Shiro- although who else could it be? It's tempting to let it ring out to voicemail, but _I'm not a coward_ thrums through his veins, and he swipes his screen with a finger stained purple.

"Look," he says, cutting off whatever greeting Shiro's prepared. Keith almost feels bad; Shiro probably practised it in the mirror to perfection before calling. "I'm busy."

"Oh," he says, deflating. Keith feels the weight of Shiro's defeated sigh furrow beneath his skin and wrap around his bones, dragging him down until he threatens to drown on... _something_. Whatever it is is cool and salty as it coats his tongue, thickening when Shiro mutters, "Sorry."

"No, I'm-..." He catches himself before he can say it too, unwanting to utter an apology that holds very little sincerity. Red distracts him from his inner turmoil, trampling over his ingredient stacks and batting a bunch of marigolds off the table. She's trying to tell him something, Keith supposes, glaring at her as he stoops to pick up the flowers- unseasonal plants are a bitch to get a hold of, and Keith will be damned if he lets his cat destroy them just to drive the point that he's fucking hopeless home.

Shiro clears his throat and Keith startles, almost scattering the marigolds once more. Right. It's Keith's turn to talk, and Shiro's obviously waiting for something. An explanation? A reason for his callousness? _I'm frightened of my feelings for you and I don't want to get hurt again_. Keith isn't in the mood to carve his chest open and pry his ribs apart to expose his heart. Sacrifices are rather messy rituals, he's read, and he'd rather not stain his kitchen floor with his blood.

In the end, he settles for, "I just need time."

It's safe, straight to the point, a shadowy slither of truth. 

"I understand," Shiro says, and Keith releases a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. He shoos Red from the kitchen and rearranges his ingredients, pushes scattered ginger crystals into uniform lines and shakes ash out of the pages of his spellbook- anything to distract him from the intense nausea of his longing, spiked by the deep timbre of Shiro's voice. "I'm sorry. I know I've come on too strong. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable, Keith."

 _Too late_ , Keith thinks bitterly, but it's not Shiro that's unsettling him. Building a relationship had been a slow, trying thing. In the beginning, Keith had tried to destroy their progress every chance he could get, ignoring all communication and going as far to snub Shiro if their paths ever crossed. It hadn't lasted, though. Shiro, sweet, stubborn Shiro, had patience Keith could only dream of possessing, undeterred by his corrosity. And Keith, he couldn't escape from the tug of yearning, drawing him closer and closer until he couldn't say no

He can feel it now, a pull that tugs at his heartstrings, making it harder to stay away.

"Call me in a week," Keith murmurs, pushing hair out of his eyes. Surely a week would be long enough, to sift through his feelings and rationalise his past. He has enough hours to himself, he might as well spend them thinking about something useful.

"Okay," Shiro agrees, and Keith hears the dry click of him swallowing. He doesn't say goodbye. Keith wasn't expecting him to, but the silence that follows feels lonelier than it did before.

*

It doesn't take a week. Three days pass and Keith's already going crazy at Shiro's absence. He's reminded of the dark times when he first left. Separating from Shiro had felt like his soul had torn in half, the edges left raw and frayed, painful to brush against. Keith can already feel himself weaving together again, although the ache of repair is prominent. He feels it mostly at night when he has nothing to do but ponder. He thinks of Shiro touching his shoulder as he presses a kiss to his cheek, feels the cold burn of it beneath his skin. Feels the death grip of a charm gone wrong, bruised wrists and a gritty voice, eyes flashing fuschia. The panic after, the last dreadful confession. 

It's overwhelming, allowing it all to flood in after two years of building dams. Keith's never cried over the loss, but he comes close now, even when Shiro's now within reach. The pain fuels a fire that smoulders in the pit of his heart, raising thick smoke that both chokes and cleanses. He wants this. He wants Shiro, complete with the burns of their past and the flame of their future.

So when Shiro calls again, Keith's ready. 

"Do you want to go out?" he asks. He's quick to add that it wouldn't be a date. Keith's curled up in bed, Red purring against his chest, smiling at the sheepishness that seeps through Shiro's voice.

"Yeah," Keith says, sinking back against his pillows, wanting to hate how quick he is to agree but not finding it within himself to care. "I would."

They talk for a little while longer, troubles and trivialities and the trials of their day. Keith's careful not to mention witchcraft, although that's all he's really done. The stamina potion had made enough to cover this month's rent and he even had a little extra to put aside for a rainy day- which just so happened to be yesterday, when he bought another bike helmet. 

You know, just in case. 

He doesn't tell Shiro, though. He doesn't want to jinx whatever little fantasy he's built for their future.

"Hey, Keith," Shiro says once their conversation has run to an easy stop. The silence isn't awkward, more companionable than anything. He can hear Shiro turning the page of whatever book he's reading every so often, and Keith's been trying his best to wrap his head around a spell written in an old Galran language. The words smudge before his eyes when Shiro murmurs, "I've really missed the sound of your voice."

 _Oh_.

"Shut up, idiot," Keith mumbles, blushing at the compliment. He buries his face in a pillow, trying to quell the heat in his cheeks as he mutters his reply.

"I didn't hear that," Shiro laughs, sounding very much like someone who _did_ hear that.

Keith groans and throws the pillow across the room. Red startles besides him and gives one disapproving mewl but Keith ignores her, biting back a smile. "I said, I've missed yours too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't really have much to say today except thank you again! 
> 
> she's still out here doing this much to everyone's surprise xD  
> (today is v unedited bc it's 1am and she's tired- sorry!)
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> see y'all tomorrow! 
> 
> xoxo Cat


	5. Fallen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all i don't think i'm doing this right

Keith's reminded why he'd fallen for Shiro in the first place when he meets him the next night. Tight jeans- too tight, if the stares of passersby are anything to go by- and a charcoal button down that brings out the silver in his eyes is Shiro's chosen attire, and Keith can't help but admit to himself that he looks good. _Really_ good. His gaze slips down his torso and lingers on Shiro's thick thighs bulging within their denim prison. It strange how clothing can be sexier than the naked form. Keith should know; he's seen Shiro bare many times before.

Keith's made as much of an effort as he's capable of: clean clothes, freshly shaven and amber aftershave. He's even brushed his hair, tying it loosely at the nape of his neck so it doesn't hang in his eyes. Shiro's face lights up when he spots him, so he must have done something right. He finds himself trying to hide his nervous blush in his hair and resorts to ducking his head, watching Shiro's Oxford's approach, thoroughly polished, impeccably clean against the grotty pavement.

"You look good," he says in greeting. Keith can smell his cologne mingling with the fumes in the air, a fine dance of cedar and cigarette smoke.

"Thanks," Keith says, instinctively leaning in- but, for what? It's barely a gesture, Shiro doesn't appear to notice it as he motions for Keith to go before him through the door, but he feels as if he's crossed some sort of invisible border.

_Not a date_ , he reminds himself, but he longs for the brush of Shiro's stubble against his cheek, the murmur of his lips against his skin.

Shiro clears his throat, a strong palm bracing the door open, and he follows Keith inside.

He's sure Shiro's chosen Italian because he remembers it's his favourite. If it were his way, Keith's sure they'd be in some small hole in the wall ramen shop right now, but he appreciates the gesture. There really is nothing better than good company other than fresh egg pasta and garlic bread. Keith's definitely going to order some; he won't be kissing anyone tonight.

It's awkward at first, neither of them wanting to breach the time that they spent away from each other, two years of murky waters, not knowing what swims beneath the surface. Keith's knee jolts below the table, stirring the tablecloth draped around him, and Shiro reaches out to still him. Another old gesture, the soothing warmth of a palm to calm his nerves, but tonight it makes Keith shirk. Not in the way Shiro thinks, because his brows draw together and he pulls away, but because he's overwhelmed by how much he _wants_ it.

"So," Shiro says, drawing out the syllable as he begins crafting another paper masterpiece out of his napkin. A nervous habit, but one Keith's always found endearing. He's still got a couple of Shiro's creations locked away in the same box as his family heirlooms- a knife, a necklace, the charred remains of a spellbook. "What do you do, now?"

God, this is first date territory, and they're long past that- not that this is a date, Keith has to remind himself, digging his fingers into his thighs until his nailbeds ache. "I freelance. Can't exactly get a job without qualifications."

Shiro, of course, already knows this. Keith's lack of education- human education- had always been a source of conflict for them. Not because he was ashamed, because Shiro wouldn't ever dismiss someone over their intelligence, but because he thought Keith was capable of so much more. Which, he is, Keith knows it and it's always been a source of self-hatred for him. But he's a twenty three year old without a high school education, and even though he knows he has a brilliant mind, that doesn't exactly give him the paper counterparts.

"You didn't try to go to school?" Shiro's straining, trying not to look disappointed, but Keith can see it in the lines of his face, in the sharp way he runs his nail down a fold, making it crisp.

"No," Keith says, feeling small. He knows what he wants to do. Translation. His mind is filled with many languages, archaic, Germanic and Romantic. He seems to spend more of his free time translating spells and he enjoys it, likes having the power to be able to read between languages. Though he won't admit it, not yet at least, he began teaching himself Japanese; he knows Shiro gets homesick, and Keith wanted to be a piece of that for him. _Home_.

"No," Keith says again, smacking his lips together. "It didn't work out."

It's silent for a while, the murmured hush of surrounding dinner conversation filling in their blanks. Keith scans the menu although he chose what he was having at home and lets Shiro order for him when the waiter comes.

"Any wine?" he asks, proffering an alcohol list. Shiro skims it, a finger trailing the options until it lands on a pinot noir.

"Not red," Keith says quickly. There was a spell a few months ago that involved stewing silk in a bottle of claret, cloves and sugar and spice. A love potion. Inhaling the steam, letting it sink beneath his skin and spike his blood, it had been the loneliest twenty four hours of his life. He'd felt like some kind of animal in heat, whimpering for something, anything- but that wasn't true.

He was longing for Shiro.

It's safe to say just the thought of it is enough to sicken Keith to his stomach.

Shiro shrugs, unaware of his inner turmoil and smiles up at the waiter. Even Keith's a little stunned by the brightness, and it's not even aimed at him. "Chardonnay, then."

"What about you?" he asks belatedly, leaning back in his chair as the waiter walks away. He has no right to be jealous, but he resents the second look they take over their shoulder, their flustered look when they've realised been caught. Keith huffs, turning his attention to anything else. His gaze lands on Shiro's ring. "Still working with the Garrison?"

Shiro swallows and averts his gaze to the window. Keith follows it, watches the same couple cross the street, a happy German Shepherd walking ahead of them, tail held high. They'd always talked about getting a dog. A big one, Keith doesn't like small yappy things; a bit of a contradiction to choosing Red, but she's small, sweet and most importantly, quiet.

"It's complicated," Shiro says eventually, pushing his hair off his forehead. It sticks up at odd angles when he pulls his hand away, a product of the amount of gel he uses to keep it all in place.

"Let me guess," Keith says, trying to lighten the mood. He raises a brow, smirking. "You've gone rogue, and tonight is all a ploy to get me exactly where you want me."

It doesn't have the effect he thought it would. Shiro grimaces, and Keith can't help but blink, watching as Shiro sinks back, lets his hands fall limply against the tablecloth. "I don't work for them anymore, Keith."

"What about this, then?" He's reaching cross before he can even contemplate it, running his fingers over Shiro's knuckles until they reach the ring. He slides it off, rolls it against his palm. It's skin warm, too big for any of Keith's fingers, loose even when he slips it over his thumb.

"I was telling the truth," Shiro says, watching Keith carefully. He doesn't snatch the ring back, doesn't even ask silently with an outstretched palm. After a few seconds of studying, though, he carefully envelopes Keith's hand with his own. "It was my father's."

That's what Shiro had said when Keith had spat accusations at him. It was a few months before the end, curiosity getting the better of him, a dark web search that led to a bitter truth Keith had found hard to swallow. Witch hunters. Shiro had promised he wasn't one, that it was just a sickening coincidence.

Keith was so in love that he believed him.

Now he doesn't know what to think. He glances at the ring one last time before handing it back to its owner. "Sure."

It plays out much like a movie stereotype. Food comes just in time to reduce the awkward tension, and Keith has no qualms sneaking bites off of Shiro's plate even if he does mock stab him if Shiro tries it on him. The conversation switches to Red, who Shiro adores, and then to his volunteer work. He's already found another shelter nearby and has donated food and supplies. He pulls out his phone and shows Keith pictures of young kittens and puppies in various layers of luxury, plump beds and fluffy blankets, catnip toys and scratching posts. The jewel in the crown is a selfie, a calico wrapped around Shiro's neck, a fluffy stump where its tail should be.

"That's Leo," Shiro says as Keith's attention draws to Shiro's smile, straight white teeth and wrinkled eyes. "Took a bit of a fancy to me, but I'm not in any position to take on a cat."

Keith's lip purse to hold back the _I'll take him_ that threatens to break free. It's not inherently a bad idea, he's sure Red would love the company, but he's not about to take on another living being just to impress someone- and that's coming from someone who adopted a cat, quite unknowing of its needs, for magical purposes.

"Here," Keith says, fishing out his phone and opening his camera roll. He has nothing to hide; nearly every picture features Red. Shiro swipes through, raising his fork to his mouth every so often and chewing quietly. Sauce smears around his mouth and Keith rubs it away without thinking.

"Uhhh," he says, napkin hovering below Shiro's chin. He looks between his hand and the amusement that dances in Shiro's eyes. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Shiro says, straightening his cutlery and pushing his bowl away. It might only be the dim lighting, but Shiro's cheeks glow. "Just a habit, right?"

Keith tries to chuckle but it comes out garbled. He takes a heavy sip of his wine. "Right."

They don't get dessert, mainly because Keith can't justify spending more than minimum wage on a slice of cheesecake. Shiro pays the bill before Keith even realises it's happening, and when he complains, he just gets a small smile and, "I want to treat you."

Keith grumbles but leaves it be.

It's still fairly early, although the evening's turned dark quickly now that they've hit the middle of autumn. Keith shivers, wishing he brought a jacket with him but not having anything appropriate- it didn't seem like a leather affair and pairing a hoodie with a shirt is laughable even to him. He startles when Shiro drapes his coat around his shoulders, wrapping it around his arms and smoothing down the collar. Keith looks down at the hands that linger at his sternum before meeting Shiro's eyes. His expression isn't expectant, but it's fond. He thinks if he hadn't tied his hair up Shiro would brush it behind his ear.

Keith finds it becoming harder to breathe, the little breaths he manages to drag into his lungs burning with Shiro's scent.

"I was wondering," Shiro says, rubbing circles into the lapels with his thumbs. Keith tries to swallow, throat clicking loud in his ears. "If you'd like to come back to mine?"

"Shiro," Keith breathes, taking a step back just so he can think. It's an invitation, that much is obvious, but Keith doesn't know what for. They're not one-night-stand kind of guys. It took a month for their first kiss to happen and that's only because Keith bit the bullet and just went for it. He knows it's different now, they've had all of their firsts together, but that wouldn't make it any less casual.

"Not like that," Shiro is quick to say once he catches on to the trail of Keith's thoughts. His fancy shoes scuff against the pavement. "I just want to talk some more."

Keith bites his lip, pulls the coat tighter around his shoulders as a shudder runs through him that has little to do with the chill in the air. He's gone this far already, he might as well jump all the way in. "Okay."

*

It's only when they're alone, completely alone, that Shiro lets it show. The nervousness, it's more than just the anticipation of seeing Keith. Shiro's shoulders are taut, hunched towards his ears as he walks ahead of Keith into the room he's calling home. It's not much, a few open suitcases and a duffle bag. Keith wonders where the rest of his- _their_ , it was theirs at one point- belongings are.

He doesn't have time to ask. Shiro steps out of his shoes and sinks heavily onto the bed, head hanging low. Keith, confused by his reaction, follows suit and sits down beside him, unsure what to do. Should he... reach out? Place a gentle hand on his shoulder, allow the weight of his palm to centre him? His fingers twitch to do something, so he laces them in his belt loops, wringing the thin material as he watches Shiro drag thin, shaky breaths into his lungs.

"Hey," he says, leaning closer. "What's wrong?"

"I just," Shiro starts, lips wavering with unspoken words, before shaking his head. "It's nothing. Let's watch something."

Not wanting to press on the bruise, Keith agrees. There isn't much on the regular channels, so Shiro pays for them to stream some dumb sci-fi film that Keith rolls his eyes at. They sit stiffly at the top of the bed, Keith with his knees drawn and Shiro with his legs stretched before him. Their hands rest on top of the duvet, too close. It would be nothing to move a couple of inches, to let their skin press together and, if he dared it, their fingers interlock. Keith spends more time staring at the curl of Shiro's little finger than he does the television screen. When he risks a glance at Shiro, he realises neither have been paying attention at all.

"Keith," Shiro says, rolling onto his side. Keith slinks down so that they're at eye level but keeps those careful couple of inches between them. "I've been thinking about what you said. About going rogue."

"Okay," Keith says, unsure. He drags his lip between his teeth and chews, not quite able to push down the nervousness that's crawling up his throat. 

"I freelance, like you," Shiro confesses, his fingers knotting in his hair. Keith can see the white knuckled peaks, stark even amongst the silver. "The things I've seen, Keith. They're... it's just awful."

"Like what?" Keith can't help but ask, moving closer. One hand comes to rest against Shiro's chest, the other wraps around his wrist, a thumb smoothing against his skin, up and under the cuff of his shirt. "Like what, Shiro?"

But it's like he isn't listening. 

"I always wanted to find you," he mumbles, finally releasing his hair. Shiro falls forwards, pressing into his side; Keith can feel the hot, shuddering huff of his breath against his neck. "But I had to, once I found her."

"Her?" Keith echoes, trying to draw away to study Shiro's face. It's no use; Shiro's nose presses below Keith's jaw, his lips a thin line against his skin. He doesn't want to, but Keith laces his words with compulsion. A thin veil of purple shimmers through the air before seeping into Shiro's body. "Who's her, Shiro?"

"They called her Krolia," he says after a long while, rolling out of Keith's touch to stare at the ceiling. His eyes glow violet for a second, and Keith almost feels guilty. It was a weak dose, though; Shiro wouldn't have spoken the truth unless he really wanted to. "A galra. Keith, she looked so much like you, and then she said all of these things and..."

"You're not making any sense," Keith says, frowning. Shiro looks so sad, smaller than Keith's seen him since, well, since he left. He curls around himself and Keith can't help but run his fingers through Shiro's forelock, pressing against Shiro's scalp until he's shuddering and unwinding himself just enough to let Keith in.

It's then, with Keith's ear listening to his hummingbird heart, that Shiro says, "I think she's your mother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm a day behind! i know! i moved last week and i spent yesterday unpacking my room and my god it knocked the socks off of me- here's a chapter that was supposed to be nice and fun that i somehow ruined with my need for angst!
> 
> i'll try for two tomorrow! i should probs say what the next prompt is- it's water and we're getting wet, baby (;
> 
> i moan on twitter about progress more than tumblr! y'all kind find me here, though:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> see you soon! 
> 
> xoxo Cat


	6. Water

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i'm back on track!

"That's impossible," Keith breathes, pushing up from Shiro's chest. He runs a shaking hand through his hair until it catches on the tie at the nape of his neck. When that's not enough, the blunt scrape of his nails against his scalp, he tugs the elastic off so he can pull harder, till his roots ache and his knuckles lock. "Shiro, this is some _sick_ joke. Don't say shit like that to me!"

"I mean it," Shiro assures, sitting upright. There's a look of confliction, plain across his face, eyes darting between Keith and his own hands, curled into fists at his side. "Look, I have her file. Photos. Samples, hair and blood. I stole it- _borrowed_ it- whilst doing some administration work for them."

Stole. Keith never thought he'd see the day that Takashi Shirogane commit any kind of crime, let alone _theft_. Keith's never seen him speed, for God's sake, and yet he was willing to take this? For him?

"Shiro," Keith says, uncertain, but he's already on his feet, halfway across the room, shoulders set, determined. He crouches to rummage through the single duffel bag before pulling out a single, thick manila folder. A flash drive is taped to the front of it.

"I know someone," he says, sitting back next to Keith and flipping the file open. A small vial filled with red and a sachet of purple hair fall free, but Shiro's looking for something else. "They can run tests, see if there was any truth to her words or if she was just messing with my head."

It's too much, too fast. Keith can feel his breath catching in his throat, trapped beneath a lump that's formed. He tries to will it away but it _hurts_ ; he can feel the pressure of it, sinking down into his chest and wrapping around his ribs. He stares at the samples in grotesque curiosity. They were part of someone, their most intimate possessions. Their DNA, stolen by the Garrison, and then by a man thinking he can play hero. "Shiro, _stop_."

"You could have a family, Keith," he says, finally finding the right page. His finger trails down the page and stops at something. _Body has held at least one pregnancy to full term_. Keith shudders at what's sure to have been an invasion of privacy. "A _mother_ , flesh and blood. You always wanted that."

_You were my family_ , Keith thinks. Shiro and Red, their little apartment full of plants and herbs, their friendly rapport with the neighbours, their talk of maybe, someday, having something more. A child of their own. It was years away, a decade perhaps. They were so young but they knew what they wanted.

This? A possible mother forced upon him based on a feeling? Keith doesn't _want_ it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asks, burying his face in his hands so he doesn't have to see. "I don't understand, Shiro."

"I thought-…" he cuts himself off. A hand settles against Keith's neck. It should be soothing, has been on so many occasions in the past, but Keith hunches under the touch. Shiro draws away. "I thought you'd want this."

Keith huffs, shaking his head against his palms. "You're telling me you've wormed your way back into my life, took me out to dinner, sent me fucking _good morning_ messages so you could tell me there's a prisoner who looks like me."

"Keith," Shiro says, defeated. The mattress shifts next to him, and Shiro's thigh presses against his, a hand on his knee asking for permission. This time, Keith doesn't pull away, and Shiro squeezes gently. "Keith, I know it sounds crazy-"

"Too right it does!" he can't help but burst, finally looking up. Shiro holds his gaze, strong and steady, before easing one of Keith's hands away from his face.

"Hey," Shiro says softly, cradling Keith's fist in his palms, smoothing his thumb in the valleys of his knuckles. It'd be so easy to unravel, let the tension melt from his fingers and interlock them with Shiro's own. He isn't ready to hold his hand, though. It's an act so simple most wouldn't have any second thoughts, but it's intimate, claiming. He isn't sure if Shiro will ever be his again.

" _Shiro_." He's reaching for the folder again, picking out the first page and turning it over with a crinkle that runs down his spine.

Keith averts his eyes, but not before he sees. Purple, unmistakably purple, like his eyes and the odd patches of hair he has to dye. "Please, just look at her."

He's bitten his lip so hard he can taste blood. Keith swipes his tongue over the wound, barely feeling the pain, looking anywhere but where Shiro holds the picture before him. He can hear him murmuring more encouragements, gentle words that cast over Keith's skin but never settle. If he looks, it's because he chooses to, not because he succumbs to Shiro's sweet honey voice.

He never thought he'd be in this position, not tonight, especially not with Shiro by his side. He's always wanted to know, has craved the truth ever since his father left him and learnt the truth that most kids had two parents. Care had been hard; he'd always had this fantasy that someone would come for him one day, tell him to pack his suitcase and to come home, just like every other orphan in the world.

Twenty three years, and it could be lying in front of him. He's waited this long to know something, _anything_ , no matter how minuscule the information and he could have his mother's blood?

_I'm going insane_. He punctures the still bleeding cut on his lip with a too sharp canine and decides he isn't dreaming.

"Fuck," he whispers, reaching for the paper. His hand is shaking, hard, the paper rippling obnoxiously, loud in the quiet Keith's caused. Shiro steadies his hold, wraps his fingers around Keith's and rest his chin against his shoulder as he finally settles his gaze.

_Oh_.

That's… him. A part of him, undoubtedly, the same sharp chin and perpetual death glare, stoic brows and downturned lips. Keith chokes. He can't help it, all the air sputters out of his lungs and he's left gasping, grappling at the picture as if he could reach through it and pull her out, ask her the plethora of questions that rattle his clenched teeth. _Krolia_. That's what Shiro said her name was. Krolia… Kogane? He wonders if they were married, his dad and his… mother?

He doesn't know if it's the truth. There's an awful lot of coincidence in the world, and she has yet to treat him kindly.

"I didn't want to scare you," Shiro says softly, running his thumb up Keith's cheek and catching the wetness that's gathered there. _Huh_. He's _crying_ , over this of all things. Shiro captures his attention, wiping beneath Keith's eyes and cradling his face with a gentleness that makes his heart ache. "I wanted to make things _right_."

Keith sniffs, loud and wet, and nuzzles into Shiro's palm. He supposes he can ignore whatever distance he's been trying to keep between them, if only for tonight. He wants comfort, the familiar warmth of another's skin on his, and if Shiro's offering that to him, he's going to hold on until he takes it back.

"I don't understand," he says, voice cracking. Shiro hums and draws Keith closer. He isn't straddling him, but it's close, lying messily across Shiro's chest, legs splayed, careful not to disturb the documents around them. "Why do this? Why go against everything I know."

"You are everything I know," Shiro says and, to Keith's thrilled horror, he presses a kiss to his temple. It's barely anything, a brush of lips against his hairline, but Keith feels it, warming something in his moribund core. "Even after two years, it's you. It's always been you."

_God_. He's not going to cry again, he isn't, but he can feel his throat clenching, burning with the effort. He looks over once more at the picture, nestled amongst wrinkled sheets, crumpled at the edges from Keith's rigid grip, before succumbing and burying his face in the crook of Shiro's neck. Strong arms come to wrap around him and Shiro rocks them lightly until Keith's trembling subsides and he can breathe without his breath clicking in his throat.

"Please let me help," he says, a last request as Keith cleans up in the ensuite. Their eyes meet in the mirror as Keith wipes his face, straightening his rumpled clothes and tying his hair back again. He doesn't look like he's been crying, though he certainly looks troubled. He scrubs at the blood dried against his lip and then thinks back to the vial, collected together with the rest of the file and hidden in Shiro's bag once again.

If there's a chance he has a family, he's got to find it.

"Okay."

*

They don't do things the traditional way- or they do, depending on how you look at it. Magic existed long before DNA testing and it's only right that Keith does this himself. With Shiro's help, of course. His reasoning is that he doesn't want to drag anyone else into this, doesn't need anyone knowing who he is, who- _if_ \- he's related to.

"How are we going to do it, then?" Shiro asks a few days later. Keith needed a few days to collect himself, but also to search for a very specific spell in a book he probably shouldn't have. Blood magic is dangerous if done with the wrong intentions, and there's usually some sort of lingering tie- but that's exactly what Keith wants.

"You'll see," he says, phone crammed between his ear and shoulder as he translates, chewing the tip of his pen between scribbling notes. "I don't usually go by moon cycles, but I suppose it's a good thing that it's full in a couple days."

"Keith, you're killing me here," Shiro groans, but he isn't going divulge any more. He may just lose his nerve if he does so.

They meet two evenings later outside Shiro's hotel. Keith doesn't want to drive, doesn't know what state he's going to be in once it's all over, so they take Shiro's car. It's still the same flashy thing, has the same number plate that always made Keith flush when he saw it. KS43 VAX. Another coincidence, Shiro had the car before they even met, but it's _there_ , even if it is just a product of a fruitful imagination.

"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" Shiro asks once they're buckled up. Keith's given him a postcode and nothing else, leading them about an hour outside of the city to the forest outskirts. They'd get there quicker if he was driving, if only because he'd push the speed limit, but there's something comforting about having this time to prepare himself.

"I told you," Keith says, flipping through the radio stations before tugging his phone out of his pocket. It's the same aux he bought after Shiro's last one broke, bright red, completely contradictory to the dark leather interior. He's surprised it's lasted this long, what with how technology is built to break. "Just wait. Patience yields focus, remember?"

Shiro swallows thickly, unused to having his own words thrown back in his face. "Fine."

Keith smirks and puts on music he knows Shiro hates; it's going to be a very long hour for him. 

At various intervals, Shiro tries to initiate conversation and, at one point, eye spy of all things. Keith indulges him for a little while but there's only so much they can see in the headlight's glow, and they call it quits after Shiro picks Keith himself.

"You can't pick people," Keith argues, slapping Shiro's thigh. "It's against the rules."

"Oh, and you're an expert on them, are you?" Shiro huffs, turning the volume down on the country droning that Keith's chosen just for him to twist the dial up on the main console. " _Keith_."

"No more games," he says, kicking his feet up on the dash and closing his eyes. "I need to concentrate."

_On what_ , he hears Shiro mutter. He probably wouldn't believe it if Keith said  _breathing_. 

Turns out he needs all the help he can get. As soon as Shiro pulls into the woodland Keith feels sick to his stomach with nerves, enough to wind the window down and drag in deep lungfuls of mulchy air. Although it's clear now, it's been raining throughout the day and a damp chill lingers. Keith isn't looking forward to greeting it.

"We're going to have to walk a little way," he tells Shiro after they've parked up. Not too far thankfully, because his bag is on the heavy side, but enough to warrant a warning. They remain silent as they trudge through the forest path, both using their phones as flashlights. It's well-trodden, a popular hiking destination during the day, but there's nothing but animal cries and groaning trees for company.

That, and the moon. Keith sees her willowy reflection first, buried in the depths of the water, before the trees break their interlocking canopy. Bright, so bright above them she shines. A tremor runs beneath Keith's skin. Ah, he thinks. I get it now.

"I'm going to cast a spell," Keith tells Shiro, as if he hasn't already figured that out, "And I need you to trust me."

"Always," Shiro says. For a fleeting second, he wonders whether he really means it, but then Keith catches sight of him, solemn in the moonlight, a thousand shades of silver beneath the ethereal glow. Yeah, he means it.

"Okay," Keith says, resolute. _Right_. There's no use drawing it out. "Did you bring the samples?"

Shiro reaches into his jacket pocket a pulls out a pouch- the same one that held Keith's good luck charm. He finds it nestled between the vial and the hair, warm in his palms. A nice touch. He pulls out the necklace he's wearing from beneath his collar, a locket bearing no image of reminiscence, and carefully dislodges the cap. All he needs is a drop, and he carefully spills it onto the velvet insides, watching it stain the ivory crimson, like a gunshot straight through the heart. He coils a few strands of hair inside and plucks some of his own, letting it weave within each other, interlocked. 

With all of the prep done, there's not much left to do but hand Shiro his belongings. There are a few more things he needs, his knife and a wrap of cleansing herbs to ground the area, but after all that there's nothing else but the water, the moon and himself. 

Naked. 

He probably should have warned Shiro of that part, but it's nothing he hasn't seen before. There's a reason, of course. Keith wouldn't subject himself to frigid temperatures just for kicks.

Shiro, to his credit, doesn't stare too much as Keith undresses, holding out a hand to collect his clothes so they don't become ruddied with dirt. Their faces are flushed by the time he's down to his boxer, the colour seeping down Keith's sternum in rose petal splotches, only deepening further when they too join the collection draped over Shiro's arm.

"Good luck," he mutters, shifting on his feet. Keith's toes curl in the dry mud, goosebumps raising over his fair skin. "Don't drown."

"That's why you're here," Keith says, before igniting his incense and wading into the shallows.

God, it's cold, much more so than he's expecting. Keith tries his best to keep his teeth from chattering as wanders out as far as he dares, ignoring the questionable terrain beneath his feet. When he turns to draw a circle in the air, his eyes meet Shiro's. He doesn't look afraid, more so curious, head cocked as he watches the events unravel before him. Once the circle is complete, Keith throws the wrap to the sky. It tears itself apart in a burst of purple light, sparks melting against Keith's skin and shimmering in a barrier around him.

_Whoa_.

"I come before you, open and exposed," he murmurs, centring himself and focusing on the water licking his waist- water for clarity, cleansing and clairvoyance.

He begins chanting in a language long dead, the words flowing from his tongue to the ripples below. He has his anchor around his neck and a knife in his palm, and when the time comes, Keith cuts into the flesh of his palm and lets his blood drip into the water. 

It's instantaneous. One moment his head is tilted towards the moon, the next he's staring into a wood-panelled room. A woman, tall and strong, cradles a bundle of fabric and soft limbs to her chest. A man stands beside her, a hand braced on her shoulder. He has Keith's nose and fair complexion, a timbre of voice he still dreams about when he's feeling homesick. A baby cried. He cries. 

It's _him_.

The room swirls and he's in a cell. The woman, Krolia, his mother, is sprawled on a metal bench, arms behind her head and eyes tacked to the ceiling. When she shifts, Keith sees the cuffs around her wrists, metal inscribed with countercharms that are sure to burn the magic beneath her skin. Hypocritical how the Garisson fight magic with magic. He feels anger for her, pity- but he squashes that down. If it were he in that cell, the last thing he'd want is a stranger's sympathy. 

Keith makes sure to study his surroundings, the thick dark concrete and gleaming metal. There’s one window in the room, barred and circular. Through it, there's an endless expanse of desert land, sand and scraggly plants dotted with cacti. In the distance stands a structure, spearing the sky with a sharp silver point. Keith squints, trying to make out its features, but his vision begins wavering, beige and black swirling until there's nothing there at all.

Keith falls back, feels the water swallow him whole. There's a pain in his hand that throbs in time with his heart.

A link is formed, and then there's nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't know how this ended up being so long but it is! i'm hoping i can catch up with today's chapter to, but it will definitely be shorter- the prompt is confusion, which i shouldn't fuck up too badly!
> 
> thank you all so much for you comments, kudos etc- i will get around to answering y'all i promise! i just overestimated just how hard doing this would be xD 
> 
> find me here, as per:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> see y'all later! 
> 
> xoxo Cat


	7. Confusion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> woops late again to my own party

He's not out for long.

Seconds later, Keith is breaking through the surface and spluttering water, lungs burning as he violently coughs. He hears splashing behind him and Shiro's already knee deep, fully dressed, on his way over to him.

"Stop," Keith manages to choke out, holding up a hand. His bleeding hand, red dripping down his wrist in watery ribbons to his elbow.

Shiro doesn't stop.

"What the _hell_ was that, Keith?" he shouts, voice echoing around them. The circle, already broken by Keith's fall, wavers as Shiro reaches for him. Blood smears across the front of Shiro's shirt as he drags Keith close, holding him almost painfully to his chest. "You could have _drowned_."

"But I didn't," Keith says stubbornly, but it's a quiet, faded thing. He feels faint, a confusion clouding his thoughts that's left his head feeling as though it's shrouded in fumes of smoke. " _Shiro_."

"You could have _warned_ a guy," he mutters, leading Keith out of the water. Well, it's more dragging really, considering Keith's left his coordination somewhere deep in a desert vision. He's not ashamed to admit he presses closer into Shiro than is platonically plausible, bare body trying to absorb any dredge of heat it can. "That was scary, Keith. _Real_ scary."

"I'm sorry," he says, the words clattering in his mouth with his shivering teeth. He isn't sorry, though, not really; he has the truth now, buried in his head and burning in his palm. A mother, a way to find her, a connection. Keith stares down at his fist, curled into Shiro's shirt. He wonders if Krolia can feel it too.

They reach the shore and Shiro wraps his jacket around his shoulders. After Keith informs him, Shiro grabs towels from his bag, wrapping one around Keith's waist with an almost medical professionalism, draping the other over his dripping hair. The only thing that gives him away is the light flush dusting his cheekbones, almost iridescent in the moonlight.

He's still feeling woozy once he's dry enough to dress, but he tries his best to manage it. It's hard, though, with a palm he might need to fix with stitches and eventually he succumbs and lets Shiro help him too.

"Are you going to tell me what you just did?" he asks, tying up the laces of Keith's boot.

Keith shrugs his response. He will, at some point, maybe in the car. All he knows is that he needs warmth and food, perhaps a nap or two on the way home.

When he's ready, Shiro wraps an arm around his waist and they make the journey back to his car. It takes longer, but that's a given. Keith's just grateful he doesn't have to carry his bag and that he has an excuse to touch Shiro some more- which shouldn't be such a priority, but he can admit at least that the hard muscles beneath his palm feel really nice.

"Uhh, thanks?" Shiro says, hesitant. Keith stumbles over his footing. _Shit_. Did he say that aloud? Shiro stops them and places a palm to his forehead, warm through the hair that still clings to his skin. "Are you feeling okay?"

"No," Keith says through gritted teeth, looking anywhere but up. Shiro's half-sodden jeans aren't even a distraction to the bone-trembling chill and the embarrassment that clenches at his throat. "Let's just get home, okay?"

"You can have a piggyback, if you like," Shiro says. Keith doesn't even need to look to know he's smiling. "We'd probably get back faster."

"I'm fine," he says, a contradiction to his previous statement. If there's one thing Keith's learnt about himself in the past week, it's that he's just that; a walking contradiction. _Stumbling_. God _fucking_ damn it, he wishes his body would coordinate, but it's like there's a two second delay between his mind shouting go and his legs following his orders. "C'mon."

It's a relief when they're finally in the car, heating on full and a blanket tucked around his shoulders. Shiro keeps one in the boot for emergencies, although he probably hadn't put a _magic drained witch_ on his list of impossible scenarios. Keith always liked keeping him on his toes.

"Do you have any food back there?" Keith asks around a yawn, sinking lower in his seat. His stomach complains loudly- he'd been too focused to eat earlier- and Keith's thankful that Shiro's round back changing into a pair of old sweats.

"Just water I'm afraid," Shiro pops his head through his open window and hands a bottle through, "Although we can stop at McDonald's on the way back."

Keith nods and cracks the seal, downing half the bottle in a few, greedy gulps. Once refreshed, he throws the water into the glove compartment and allows his eyes to drift shut. Even with the cracked window, the warmth is enough to feed Keith's already drowsy disposition. He feels more than hears Shiro get in beside him, the shudder of the vehicle adjusting to additional weight, the engine turning and humming through his skin. A hand on his thigh, squeezing gently, returning every time Shiro shifts gears.

"I'm gonna tell you," Keith murmurs, rolling his head against the restraint so he's gazing sleepily at Shiro's profile. His jaw is so strong, even when it's softened with a smile.

"I know," Shiro says, eyes darting briefly to meet his before going back to the road. "Get some rest."

Keith hums, a soft little sound caught in the back of his throat, and buries further into the blanket.

When he awakens, they're sat idle nearby Shiro's hotel. Keith gives up the ghost and directs them back to his but he finds he doesn't mind Shiro knowing. _Wants_ him to know, in fact, and be a part of the place he's called home for two years. The only other people who have been inside are his landlord and a boiler serviceman. It'll be nice to see someone else there, to ingrain the image into his brain. It'll make the place feel more alive, somehow.

Shiro trails behind him, takeaway bag in hand, as Keith leads them up the several flights of stairs to the top floor. The elevators have been broken for a few weeks and whilst Keith normally likes getting the extra exercise in, the last thing his weary body wants is three flights and a long hallway. He fumbles with the keys once outside, the chains clinking together. A lion's head and a tacky plastic broomstick, purchased ironically by none other than the man who finally reaches around Keith and slots the key in the lock.

The lights are off but there's still a faint glow in the apartment, a side effect of Keith's works in progress. He slaps at the wall until he finds a switch and squints against the harsh glow from the flickering bulbs.

Shiro whistles low. "I like what you've done to the place."

Meaning, not much. There's a second-hand sofabed and a makeshift coffee table, nothing more than stacks of old books with a sheet of plywood balanced on top. A bean bag that's more of a cat bed than anything to sit on is nestled in a corner, and Keith's laptop lies open on the floor, the battery long dead. He hadn't been expecting company. If he had, then-… Let's face it. If he had, he wouldn't have changed anything at all.

"Not your style, I know," Keith says, walking through into the kitchen. Ginger is heavy in the air, which isn't the worst scent in the world but isn't exactly know for being all that welcoming. Shiro doesn't seem all that bothered, though, peering at the little notes pinned to Keith's notice board and at the books lying open on the counter. Curious, as always.

The thought hits Keith as he's boiling the kettle, that he's allowing Shiro to read through his spell books, things that are fiercely private and dangerous in the wrong hands. All it would take is one second of distraction, and the evidence is in Shiro's hands, swept into a bag, hidden beneath his jacket.

No. Shiro wouldn't do that, didn't do that for the months he knew before.

"Why don't you sit down, Keith?" Shiro suggests, turning away from the tome he'd been studying. He's already rummaging around for mugs and milk, rooting through drawers as if he owned the place. Keith, against his better judgement, decides he likes how comfortable Shiro is here.

So Keith leaves him too it, settling on the sofa and digging into the fast food waiting for him. Shiro got his order right, must have remembered it after all these years, and he's halfway through his burger when Red finally decides to make an appearance. She slinks out of the bedroom, tail held high, and sniffs the air with an elegant huff. Keith can tell she knows there's something amiss; she holds herself with caution as she skulks through the room, ears pricked, listening to the low hum of Shiro singing to himself beneath his breath.

It's like a dramatic scene in a romance novel; Red peers around the kitchen doorframe and mewls happily, and Keith watches as Shiro drops to his name and coos out her name. She's never been this affectionate to him, it's always been Shiro, little licks, rubbing her furry body over any body part she can reach. True love, Keith had always joked, stronger than Shiro's and his.

"I've missed you so much, little Red," Shiro babbles. He's on the floor now, cradling the cat to his chest and scratching behind her ears. Keith can hear her purrs from here. "Haven't you grown! It looks like Keith's finally been giving you the treats you deserve."

"Hey!" Keith shouts, unwilling to tolerate such blasphemy under his roof. "I've always treated her just fine. You were the one who spoiled her like a princess."

"That's because she is one, aren't you?" Shiro babies, kissing the top of Red's head. She glares at Keith over the top of Shiro's hair, the message reading loud and clear. _You hear that, peasant? I'm royalty_. "You're my beautiful, little princess, aren't you lady Red?"

"Oh, my God," Keith groans, rolling his head back and staring his frustration into the ceiling. "Come over here before I eat your fries."

Shiro obliges, settling himself and Red snug against Keith's side. Funny how small the sofa seems now that there are two bodies fighting for space. Keith fidgets, drawing his legs beneath him at first, and then to his chest. No matter what he does, though, Shiro's _there_ , pressed against his hip, his thigh, grazing his elbow as he buries his hand in the bag to fish out another fry.

"Hey, c'mere," Shiro says after a while, patting his legs. When Keith doesn't get the message, Shiro rolls his eyes and wraps his fingers around Keith's ankle, guiding it until it's resting in his lap. His fingers stroke absently mindedly over his shin as he eats, alternating between petting Keith and an increasingly jealous Red. "Do you wanna watch something?"

"Like last time?" Keith jests, though it comes out more bitter than he's intending.

"I don't know, then," Shiro shrugs, tugging at Keith's sweats. "Some music, maybe."

"I think," Keith says, catching Shiro's wrist and stilling his fiddling, "That we should talk about this evening first."

Shiro blinks at him for a moment before nodding, solemn. With an hour's sleep and a full stomach, Keith finds his head clear enough to relay all the details of the evening as he can, first telling Shiro about the spell and then what he had seen. Halfway through, Shiro stops Keith to grab the notebook lying on the coffee table so he can make notes. _It's all important_ , he tells Keith, drawing a little depiction of the window in the bottom corner of the page.

"What's _most_ important," Keith says, grabbing the pen from Shiro's fingers and sliding it behind his ear, "Is that I saw my dad. I saw my dad with her, Shiro."

"So she was telling the truth," he mutters, hair falling into his eyes. They sit quietly for a moment as the heaviness of the evening settles into their skin, but then Shiro's attention snaps back onto him. "And this spell. You said a connection was formed?"

"I don't really know," Keith says, flexing his fingers and staring at his palm. It had healed inhumanely fast once away from the water, no more than a thin scar running through, fresh pink and shiny. "Maybe."

Shiro takes Keith's wrist and studies the skin gently, turning his palm in the light. He trails a finger over the discolouration, and Keith shudders. He doesn't know whether it's from the intimacy of the touch or the rawness of his skin. Noticing Keith's reacting, Shiro repeats the action, smoothing his fingertip in circles before dragging it down the centre of his palm. Keith doesn't realise that he's leaning in closer until Shiro's turning to him, face so close he can feel his breath hot against his lips.

"Keith," he murmurs, eyes lowering. He readjusts their hands until their fingers are linked, a thumb brushing gently over his knuckles. Keith closes his eyes and lets himself imagine, just for a second, what it would feel like for it to happen, mouth on mouth, the warm caress of a tongue. It's been so long, too long since he's been kissed. He longs for it with a tug that comes from his heart and the veins that are still interwoven in their past. 

He can feel it happening. Maybe it does for a second, the promise of something deeper, the first whisper of what could be something beautiful but Keith turns away, eyes squeezed tight. "Shiro... we _can't_."

Shiro, brilliant, understanding Shiro, doesn't ask any questions, doesn't press it further. Keith feels him lean away, giving him space, but it's not space that he wants, anything but. Keith looks up into the eyes of the man he was once devoted to and doesn't see anger or annoyance. He smiles down, a small sweet thing that does nothing to slow his racing heart, and says his name so softly Keith barely hears it. 

"It's not no," Keith says, shifting closer and resting his head on Shiro's shoulder. "I just think we should take it slow.

 Their fingers are still linked. Realistically, a kiss wouldn't have changed the closeness that they're already sharing, but it's the principal of it. It's only been a few weeks. Keith needs time, if not for Shiro, but for himself. If this is going to happen, it's going to go right this time. Besides, they have bigger things to face, his imprisoned _mother_ for one. 

That's a problem for later Keith, he decides, snuggling further into Shiro's embrace and accepting the kiss that's dropped to his forehead. 

"However long that it takes," Shiro murmurs into his hair. 

For the moment, Keith lets them just be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm surprised i even got this finished, 80 percent was written in the last three hours. 
> 
> i'm quickly finding i'm burning out writing this much every day. i ain't abandoning, don't worry! i'm just not gonna promise daily updates. Boo. I know. It's fictober and i can't even do it right, i feel you- but 31 chapters, y'all. i'm gonna do this! plus it will give me more time to plan what the fuck is going on. if y'all still can't tell, i still have no idea what's going on xD 
> 
> anyway, find me here as per:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> i've got an interview on thursday so the next update may be after then- i'm not too sure yet! i've got zine work and birthdays i need to write for too so i'm gonna be writing things y'all will eventually see anyway xD
> 
> thanks for all the comments and kudos once again! i love and appreciate them all!
> 
>  
> 
> see you soon!
> 
> xoxo Cat


	8. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly don't know what this is but it's here lmao

"What do we do next, then?"

It's past midnight and Shiro and Keith are still wrapped around each other on the sofa. Red alternates between rubbing her face against Shiro's stomach and dribbling on Keith's knee. There's a movie playing on Keith's laptop. Shiro let him eat his leftover fries, even if they were soggy and cold. It's all awfully domestic, but it's exactly what Keith needs.

 _Needed_.

He's sat around for too long now- he's never been able to sit still for long, after all. His bones ache, still thawing from the cold, and the arm pressed against Shiro's side is completely numb. He repositions himself and shakes out his limbs, facing Shiro's profile.

"What do you mean, what do we do next?" Shiro says, reposition Red in his lap and tilting his head. "It's late, Keith. We go to bed."

"Here?" Keith says dumbly, blinking.

"That's not what I meant," Shiro's quick to say, ducking so hair falls into his eyes.

"I don't mind." He doesn't. In fact, he wants Shiro here. Maybe not in his bed, where temptation may run amiss, but he'll certainly pull out the sofa for him. He misses their morning together, breakfasts shared and coffee coloured kisses. "If you don't."

"I don't," Shiro says, on the brink of overly enthusiastic.

Keith nods to himself and stands, brushing crumbs from his clothes. "Okay."

He's got spare bedding somewhere. Not much, a pillow and a few fleecy blankets for when he can't afford to turn on the heating. Shiro watches as he busies himself, putting on a clean case and shaking out the dust. If he was expecting to share Keith's bed, he isn't showing his disappointment. He helps pull out the fold out mattress and arranges everything how he wants it, pillow on the left, closest to the door, a position they had always fought over.

"I know," Shiro begins after everything's straightened out. They're kneeling either side of the sofa, both tousled from the exertion. "That you want to do something, Keith, but it can wait a night."

He is right, as always. Keith longs to do something now that he knows more, use the information that burning in his brain to find his family, to… free her? Keith bites his lip at the thought. He hadn't really considered what he was going to do, but it's the only logical solution, right? Break into a high-security building and free a captive. Yeah. It sounds just about right.

"Keith?"

He blinks, and Shiro's looking up at him with concern creasing his brow. Keith sighs and sinks back on his ankles, rolling his neck until it cracks. It's an impasse, really, if Keith succumbs to Shiro's wishes. "I guess it can wait until morning."

Shiro's shoulders sag and he pushes himself up to his feet. Keith watches as he rounds the sofa and offers him a hand, allows himself to be pulled up and held, even if it's only momentarily.

"You're still so cold," Shiro murmurs, rubbing warmth into Keith's hand with his palms. "Have you got a bath here?"

"Uhhh." Keith thinks to his tub, filled with all sorts of magically crockery, crystals and crap in general. "Kinda?"

He leads Shiro to his washroom and braces himself as he flicks on the light. Shiro swears behind him. "Jesus, Keith."

"I wasn't expecting guests!" he defends himself, picking up a forgotten towel from the floor and sniffing it- musty, not good.

"How do you live like this?" Shiro questions, picking out what's left on top- a smaller cauldron that rattles when Shiro shakes it. Keith hopes there's only amethyst inside but he can't be sure.

"I don't know," he says, shrugging. He's got a separate shower, a small blessing in this otherwise desperately lacking apartment even if the water flow is weak. "I've managed."

Shiro gives him long, painful side eyes. Keith's always hated disappointing him. "Well, not for much longer."

"Are you really gonna spring clean at one in the morning?" Keith asks, unbelieving despite what's happening before his eyes. There's already a pile forming at Shiro's feet, measuring tools and shreds of fabric. Keith hates waste, will save any scrap that could be useful in the future. Shiro used to call him a hoarder, but Keith prefers _frugal_.

"Yes." His tone is final, as is the way he drops the metal ladle with a clatter on the tile next to him. "Go make yourself some tea or something, Keith, and make sure the water's on."

"Only if you're gonna pay for it," he grumbles but he slouches out into the kitchen and switches on the kettle. Red hops up onto the counter and watches him with an air of disapproval. _Hypocrite_ , Keith thinks, sticking his tongue out at her. She never seemed to mind the mess before.

By the time he's downed his tea, Shiro's already completely emptied out the tub and is spraying it with cleaning solution Keith didn't even know he owned.

"This is a bit excessive, isn't it?" Keith says, resting his hip against the door frame; he's gonna be stepping over piles just to piss for weeks.

"You," Shiro says, punctuating the word by shoving the plug into the drain, "Need a bath. Doctor's orders."

"Really?" Keith says slowly, narrowing his eyes. He's not sure if he's walking into a flirtation trap; Shiro sometimes says the most sensuous shit seriously and after all these years, Keith still doesn't know if it's intentional.

"Yeah," he says with a shrug, effectively killing any mood there could have been. Not that Keith's disappointed; he's the one who wanted to take things slow, after all. "Keith, no offence, but you stink of mouldy water and damp herbs."

"You weren't complaining earlier," he points out, raising an eyebrow. He subtly tries to sniff at himself; maybe he's just grown used to his scent, but he doesn't smell that bad.

"I wasn't." He watches Shiro's throat roll as he swallows, but then he's turning to the taps and twisting the hot on full blast. "You'll feel better though."

Keith didn't know he wasn't feeling well enough in the first place, but Shiro does know him better than he knows himself. The cold, the achiness- for anyone other than him it'd be enough to send them straight to bed.

"You gonna wash my hair and everything?" Keith teases, spotting an abandoned bottle of lavender soak amongst the carnage on the floor and pouring it generously.

He turns in time to see Shiro's face redden, lips wavering, trying to find the correct words. "Do you want me to?"

Keith shrugs, leaving it entirely in Shiro's court. Instead, he changes the topic as he begins to strip, just his jacket at first, testing the waters. "Are you gonna bathe after me?"

Shiro doesn't look at him so Keith pushes his sweats down his thighs and steps out of them. He has a feeling that he's crossing boundaries he put up himself, but his body isn't an unfamiliar thing to Shiro and he's not usually one for embarrassment. "I'll probably just take a shower."

"You might as well take one now," Keith says, finally sinking into the water. He'd be lying if he wasn't suggesting it completely for unselfish reasons- the shower glass is cheap and unfrosted- but he forgets all of his ulterior motives as the heat begins to work at his muscles, stinging the still sensitive flesh on his palm.

Shiro considers it for a few moments, eyes flicking between Keith and the ajar shower door, before sighing. He's undressed in seconds, stoic and efficient, clothes folded and water running before Keith can let his eyes wander the curve of Shiro's muscles.

Much.

"So," Keith starts, slipping lower until the water brushes his chin. "Where exactly did you find Krolia?"

"I see," Shiro hums, raking his hands through his hair. The thought of Shiro using his shampoo makes Keith shudder. "You just wanted me at my most vulnerable to interrogate me."

"Maybe," Keith says slowly, breaking the layer of bubbles with his leg and pointing his toe towards the ceiling. "I'm gonna jump right out of this bath and incapacitate you."

"Kinky," Shiro says below his breath, but Keith hears loud and clear. He clears his throat and tilts his head back, washing suds down the drain. "About six months ago, I was doing some work way down south. Led me to a base in Arula."

Keith hums, already familiar. His father was from the south, accent thick and skin always on the verge of burnt, although he never knew exactly where. He remembers hot sand though, grains sticking to clammy skin, and watching sunsets low over desert dunes. He supposes, then, that he too is a child of the sun.

"She was there, amongst others. Members of the same clan, I think, captured together," Shiro continues, although he's stepping out of the shower. Keith closes his eyes as he wraps a sacred clean towel around his waist, and when he speaks again it's close to Keith's ear. "They don't keep prisoners at the same place for long, though, not ones who can be tracked easily."

Keith almost laughs at the irony. He opens his eyes, expecting to see the stained ceiling above him, but Shiro's there. Not directly over him, because that would be more than a little creepy, but he hovers by Keith's side, a bottle in his hand. Keith pushes himself up and winces at the pull in his muscles.

"I was joking," he murmurs, but he's already rearranging himself so Shiro can reach him easily. He loves having his hair touched and it isn't exactly a secret; Shiro's fingers always found their way when they were alone, whether casually playing whilst watching TV or tugging hard when he was in Keith to the hilt. 

It's no different now. Keith hums as Shiro's nails graze his scalp, massaging hard and deep until he's groaning, pressing up into the touch until, embarrassingly, he feels the first stirs of arousal between his legs. He tries not to let it show, but he's hyper-aware of it, masked only by a thin layer of dispersing bubbles and the lavender hue of the water.

"Good?" Shiro asks, moving towards Keith's neck, pressing his thumb into a knot. It makes his the predicament infinitely worse.

Keith doesn't trust himself to talk, simply nodding and shifting lower in the water.

A few minutes later and Keith is hauling himself out of the water, equally relaxed and riled up. His body feels better, at least, and that was the whole point of bathing, but his mind is racing a mile a minute and Keith is struggling to keep up. If they were together, he'd lay across Shiro's lap and let him work the tension out of his muscles, would probably fall asleep somewhere in the process. He can't deny that he isn't tempted, stepping out of the bathroom and seeing Shiro on the makeshift bed. He's reading something on his phone, a pair of glasses pulled out from somewhere perched on the edge of his nose. Red, ever the traitor, is curled up on his lap.

It looks like it's going to be another lonely night.

"Hey," Shiro says, setting his phone aside. "Feel better?"

"Much," Keith offers him, giving a curt nod. He wants so bad he can taste it, smoke on the tip of his tongue, but he shakes his wet hair out of his eyes and resolves himself for sleep. "Don't forget to turn the lights out before you crash."

"I will," he says, shifting blankets aside as if to stand. "Keith-"

"I'm going to bed," he cuts off, blunt. He thinks if he looks at Shiro any longer, shirtless and rumpled hair, he'd find an excuse to sleep by his side. Conserving heat saves money- it's already happening. Keith shakes his desperate thoughts away and raises his hand. "Night, Shiro."

He's halfway down the hall when he hears a reply, softly carried on a sigh. "Good night, Keith." 

*

He shouldn't feel guilty, but he does, and he spends what feels like hours tossing and turning before his mind finally, thankfully, stills.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> love a midweek dip in motivation- i'm sorry y'all!
> 
> i've started the next chapter already- i was contemplating having this one longer but i so wanted to have something out for y'all because i'm so so late. i don't know when i'll update again, i'm back at work tomorrow! i'm hoping for wednseday, if not thursday because that's my day off. fingers crossed!
> 
> thank y'all for your love and support as always!
> 
> catch me here:
> 
> [ zeldaismyhomegirl](http://zeldaismyhomegirl.tumblr.com/)  
> [ @ItsCatAvalon](http://twitter.com/ItsCatAvalon)  
> xoxo Cat
> 
> (ps arula ain't a place, i just don't wanna restrict myself to a country in this fic so it all happens in a lovely made up world with made up names that i come with on the spot lmao)


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